Drabbles
by Raphaella
Summary: A series of random drabbles/short stories I wrote over the year, all Cid/Vincent with mentions of other characters. Some serious, some funny, bits of everything. Will forever be continued.
1. Chapter 1

**Collection**

AN: Some drabbles are in character, some out of character – just for the hell of it. I say 'drabbles' when actually I mean really, really short stories lol.

/

.

**Before**

It was the first time Cid had ever awoken before him. Vincent was prone to the strict, early routine drilled into him during his Turk days, rising with the sun despite whatever hour he should fall asleep at the previous night.

It was with a pleasant surprise that one morning, when Cid had cleared the sleep from his eyes with forefinger and thumb, that he cast his gaze down beside him to find his partner still slumbering, blissfully unaware of his broken habit. Pushing himself onto one arm, still comfortable in a soft tangle of duvet, Cid allowed his eyes to study every minute detail, suspecting he had been given a rare treat to commit to memory, should it never occur again.

The curtains, having been carelessly jerked closed last night, hung slightly parted, allowing a golden beam of sunlight to shine through, stretching across Vincent's shoulders in a single streak. His skin practically glowed under the caress of the warm ray. He lay on his front, his arms curled beneath the one pillow he had claimed during the night. They were feather-stuffed, and his face was half hidden in the plush material, but oh did he look comfortable. His breathing was silent, and only the tell-tale rise and fall of his back confirmed his breathing pattern. The thick duvet concealed the rest of his lithe body, but Cid – whose mind usually hovered on the edge of the proverbial gutter when Vincent's body became subject – simply watched, enraptured, soaking in the sight he had admittedly never witnessed, despite their cohabitation.

Cid vaguely wondered what had prompted this prolonged lay-in from Vincent. They had done nothing last night that they hadn't done before, so there were no new exertions on either of them, and the previous day had been one of routine.

He could simply be asserting himself into his new lifestyle – finally – adapting to the lack of need for such early rising. Or Cid could believe he himself was the influence, having a few times coaxed the man back to bed after he'd arisen. Yeah… it was probably him.

Allowing his lips to quirk into a groggy smile, Cid relented against the urge to run his hands over Vincent's long, tousled hair, and enjoyed the softness that somehow remained despite Vincent's negligence to brush it often. He swept it from the man's back in favor of exposing all of Vincent's shoulders, taking in the expanse of creamy skin just _waiting_ for some attention. Cid didn't refuse; he leant down and brushed his lips over the toned area of the closest shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of the man's skin, and the smoothness he'd come to know. He trailed his lips across one of the two marks that adorned his shoulder blades, streaking diagonally from either side of his spine: The only physical evidence of his metamorphosis abilities. Chaos' wings were the only part of his transformation that Vincent could control at will, however rare he used them. Cid could count the times on his right hand.

Vincent stirred slightly, releasing a quiet but audible breath as Cid propped himself onto an elbow and looked down at him, watching his every movement. A sliver of crimson appeared beneath his partner's heavy eyelids, almost lost behind the man's eyelashes. They blinked into focus and found Cid's, and a small smile graced his features in morning greeting. Cid wondered if a man should look that beautiful. It was almost wrong…

_Almost_.

"Mornin'," Cid said, his voice a little croaky from a night of no use. One hand absently found Vincent's spine, trailing softly along the curves and contours.

Vincent appeared to contemplate this, and Cid knew he was wondering the same thing; their morning routine roles had been reversed.

"What time is it?" Vincent asked finally, his deep voice whispery and quiet, half-muffled in the recesses of the ridiculously fluffy pillow.

Cid gave a small shake of his head. "Dunno… doesn't matter." All that mattered was that Vincent continued to look like that; half-asleep, disheveled and utterly gorgeous.

"Have you been watching me long?"

Cid smirked. "Not long enough. Maybe yer should go back to sleep."

Vincent shifted in his groove of the plump mattress to lie on his back, sliding Cid a satirical ghost of a smile as his head sunk back into the comfy pillow. His red eyes caught the sunlight, sparkling mesmerizingly.

"I'm usually the one watching you," he said.

"Creepy fucker."

This prompted as close to a laugh as Vincent could utter, a chuckle of breaths that shot down Cid's spine. He had only heard that sound once before in the time he had known the gunman. Since his vengeance against Hojo and his involvement with Cid, Vincent had begun to change, slowly but surely, and definitely for the better. He still had a long way to go, and he often sunk into his old moody, silent ways, but Cid was sure _he_ was the main element in the man's 'recovery'.

"I could say the same," Vincent replied in a soft rumble, eyeing Cid slyly.

"I don't deny it," the pilot smirked again. His features molded into something more inquisitive. "Yer watch me every mornin'?"

Vincent said nothing, but the subtle, shrewd shift in his features answered Cid's question. "You look completely different when you're sleeping…"

Cid resettled his head on his hand, the limb tingling with pins and needles. "In what way?"

Vincent gazed up at him silently for a second. "Unguarded… completely relaxed…"

Cid chuckled. They were two of the words he had thought of Vincent's sleeping form, along with 'fuckable'. He told the man as much.

After a moment of smirking at each other, Vincent began to get up, but was seized before he could leave the bed and dragged back down into the dip of the mattress, his hair splaying across the pillows in a stark contrast of black against white. Cid hovered predatorily over him.

"Did I mention yer make me horny all the time? _Especially_ when yer asleep."

Vincent blinked up at him. "I gathered, yes."

Cid grinned. "Do me a favor," he requested as he lowered his lips to the man's neck and pressed his hands southwards down Vincent's body. "…Pretend yer asleep."

"And you call me creepy."

.

(This is what prompted my story 'Taking Advantage' lol)

.

**Property**

Vincent was a light sleeper, able to wake to any unfamiliar sounds. However, after a particularly round of vigorous sex, he was practically dead to the world. Cid decided if there was any chance to take advantage it would be then. It was difficult to keep himself awake after they had come down from their highs, especially against the extra warmth of Vincent's body as he settled into a comfortable position and let himself sink into blissful sleep. Cid watched, waiting to be sure the man was fully unconscious (and trying him damnest not to join him just yet) before slipping out of bed when he was sure he wouldn't wake the man.

Grabbing his weapon of choice from inside one of his draws, he slunk back to the bed, back to the musky scent of Vincent and sex, and carefully perched himself in a position where he was able to gentle tilt the man more onto his stomach, and edge the soft duvet down. He chuckled mischievously to himself as he went to work with the small item he had picked up, enjoying the thought of seeing Vincent's face if or when he eventually realized what Cid had done.

Once finished, Cid capped the permanent marker and sat back to admire the deliberately neat text marking Vincent's ass. The words CID'S PROPERTY stood out quite nicely. Yes, it was immature, but it was funny.

As he stood and took the marker back to the desk draw, smelling the lingering ink in the air, he didn't notice his dark reflection in the full-length mirror, as he turned his back to it, nor the dark words running full length down his spine that read PROPERTY OF VINCENT VALENTINE.

(I could never actually see them doing this, so I've no clue why I wrote it).

.

**Wardrobe**

Hiding Vincent's only set of clothes had been a weak but effective ploy to get a chance to see him wearing something else. Not that a full leather suit and a cape weren't appealing, but they became familiar and boring.

The all-too obvious set of clothes set out for him over the end of the bed enticed a quirked eyebrow at Cid's poorly concealed smile and the avoidance of meeting his gaze. Still, despite Vincent's quick scan of the room, just to check if his clothing were as badly hidden as Cid's smirk, the gunman picked up the folded set and held them out to examine them. Casuals, but still less fabric than his familiar outfit. He threw another look at his partner.

"Humor me," Cid requested, rising from the edge of the bed, giving a morning stretch. He said nothing more as he left the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen.

He made himself a cup of hot tea, and poured Vincent a mug of steaming coffee. He was just setting them down on the circular breakfast table, a buttered cracker between his lips, when Vincent descended from the stairs and into the kitchen. Cid stared, caught off-guard for a moment by the strange appearance of _normal_ that radiated from the man, all due to a simple set of clothes.

Vincent eyed him as he fingered buttons on the snug-fitting, garnet shirt, apparently unused to such thin fabric. The black jeans shaped his legs magnificently as they carried him to the kitchen table to his coffee, perfectly fitted. Normal clothes – stunning results.

Cid caught a detail that had him smiling. Cracker still between his teeth, he approached Vincent and raising his hands to the buttons of his collar, undoing the top three to appease his aesthetical side and to show off a teasing bit of clavicle.

"That's perfect," Cid intone, after taking the cracker from his mouth. Ironically, after finally getting the man in another set of clothes, Cid couldn't wait to tear him out of them.

Vincent adopted a keener expression as he took the cracker from Cid's fingers and bit off a section, making a crunch that shouldn't have but sounded mildly erotic to Cid's ears.

"I hope you'll show me the same favor," the gunman drawled suggestively after he swallowed.

Cid raised his blond brow curiously. "Oh?"

"You're not the only one with requests."

Curious as to what Vincent would find appealing, Cid passed him his coffee and stole back his cracker, but it was clear Vincent wasn't going to tell him yet. In the meantime, Cid was fully committed to enjoying the sight of the man's ass in those jeans as he walked to the counter to make his own breakfast.

.

**Coconut**

He was still learning new things about his partner. Despite the time they spent together, there was still so much that he didn't know until it was revealed to him, often through indirect means.

Like now. He hadn't been expected back home for another four hours, but the cold weather in Rocket Town had forced temperatures below ideal working conditions, and for an engineer working in an unheated hanger, it had become impossible to continue, mostly due to the fact that his fingers could no longer feel his work. He had returned to his warm house to find a packet of cakes on the table, open, the plastic tray half empty of oblong slices. Cid took off his coat and draped it over a chair as he sniffed the sweet smell. Coconut.

He turned to the living room, sensing his partner's presence emanating from the couch, and found the man comfortably seated with his legs up and his back against the arm of the sofa, reading what looked like one of Cid's many books on aerodynamics. Half a slice of a coconut cake hovered before his lips as he noticed his partner's entrance.

"Cake, huh?" Cid asked unnecessarily. He pulled off his scarf and flung it over the back of the couch as he approached. Vincent was watching patiently as the pilot perched himself on the edge of the couch, which allowed Cid to take the half slice from his fingers and pop it into his own mouth. It was sweet and spongy. He nodded as he rolled the taste around his tongue and swallowed. "You strike me as a coconut lover."

Vincent tilted his head as Cid leaned against him, his body cold against the gunman's. "How so?"

Cid took a moment of mock contemplation. "Coconuts are exotic," he drawled, sliding his eyes to meet Vincent's crimson ones. "Like you."

Vincent looked amused.

.

**Gawk**

It was a mistake to think he'd be the only one to appreciate, admire and generally stare after his partner in his new clothes.

Edge was full of familiar faces, unfamiliar faces, and friends they had come to know since Avalanche had taken up residence (however temporary half of them were in staying). The trek to Tifa's bar encouraged most if not all of the people they passed to glance in their direction, and Cid was pretty sure he wasn't the object of attention. Vincent, it was clear, was just as aware of this, and looked rather disgruntled as he walked with Cid through the streets. It wasn't like he was fucking _glowing_, so Cid was a little surprised by how _much_ attention the gunman was raking. Maybe this was a demon pheromone thing again. If it was, then SHIT.

But he was fairly sure it wasn't…. Nevertheless, he stuck close.

When they entered Seventh Heaven, Cid could see Tifa's eyes practically bulging as they caught sight of Vincent. Cid had to remind himself that she was friend, not foe.

"Vincent!" She practically squawked, obviously completely taken by surprise at his new attire. She seemed obvious to Cid, who raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "Wow, you look so different." Cid could see she really meant something along the lines of '_You look really hot, now that we can see your body and all of your face. I could screw you right now.'_

Vincent inclined his head in his usual stoic greeting as Cid stepped beside him and Tifa finally noticed his presence.

"Hey, Cid," she greeted cheerily. "This is your doing, I take it?" She indicated with a slight nod of her head Vincent's clothing.

"Yer didn't think for a minute _he_ was responsible?" Cid retorted, jerking his head at Vincent as he sat down at the bar.

Her eyes lingered a second longer on the gunman – and Cid couldn't _really_ blame her – before she pushed their usual orders before them.

A short time later a small party of customers bustled into the bar, talking as they headed for a table by the wall. Several, Cid noticed with jealous scrutiny, glanced interestedly at Vincent's back. Cid shot them his best 'I will fuckin' bust yer balls if you look again' glare. They didn't look back after that.

When Cloud entered ten minutes later, Cid was glad there was someone else to talk to. But as soon as the young man's ridiculously blue eyes fell on Vincent's form, and something akin to immediate lust passed across his features, Cid's tolerance almost snapped. However, he gritted his teeth and offered Cloud what he hoped was a friendly grin. Judging by Cloud's expression, it could have looked like he was chewing on glass.

It was only when Barret, followed by one of his many burly friends walked in and joined them all at the bar, did Cid explode. Barret was commenting, in what they all assumed was a compliment, that Vincent suited normal wear despite his "fucking weird appearance anyway". One of his friends let slip a casual remark in which included the words 'Vincent', 'no clothes', 'alleyway' and a sick, perverted 'oooh yeeeaaahh.'

He was lucky that all he left with that evening was a black eye. He was also told later on that he was _extremely_ lucky that Vincent had neither his gun nor his gauntlet with him.

.

**Soothe**

It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last.

It still hurt, though. To know that the suffering was still ongoing, despite the physical ordeal having long since ended. Cid knew they would always be there, inside Vincent's head, lurking in the depths of his mind like a permanent parasite. He wished he could take them away, but sadly knew that it would do no good to a victim of Vincent's degree. Without memories to explain why he was so different, he would probably go mad.

All Cid could do, as he did every time, was to be there as a warm, solid reassurance. A reminder of Vincent's new life. His future. He provided the comfort and companionship that Vincent had once denied, a voice that grounded him to the normality of reality.

"Hey," Cid whispered gently, attempting to draw his partner's distant attention as he cupped Vincent's face and repeated a thumb over his cheekbone. It was redundant to ask 'Another bad one?', because those were the only nightmares that could cause Vincent to cry out in his sleep. Cid didn't bother glancing at the clock, he knew it was well past midnight. It usually was.

Still elevated on his elbow since he had bolted upright only seconds ago, Vincent turned his eyes to Cid's. Even in the heavy darkness of the room his eyes glowed from their Mako enhancements; yet another physical reminder of his torment, despite how much Cid loved them.

He wouldn't pull him in, an embrace was considered too intrusive after a replay of his darkest memories. Instead, carefully, Cid cupped his face and pulled him back down into the mattress on his side, shifting closer so their bodied just met. Any more contact would unease him, so Cid continued to provide the only touch he knew he could offer. He brushed the first knuckles of his fingers gently across Vincent's cheek, a light contact that the man's superior sensitivity would find soothing.

Vincent's red eyes watched him, an expression of mixed emotions flickering vaguely across his features. Cid saw gratitude, fatigue, pain – it was always present – and shame. Vincent hated his weakness, but had come to terms with it some time ago.

They said nothing as Cid sensed more than felt Vincent's heart rate slowly return to normal. Cid's hand found the man's bangs, combing through them slowly. It usually induced relaxation, and sure enough a minute later he could tell the difference as the tension seeped from the stiff line in his partner's shoulders.

"Want a warm drink?" Cid finally offered, his voice still quiet.

Vincent swallowed, testing the dryness of his throat. He'd been shouting a good few minutes in his sleep before Cid had managed to shake him awake. He nodded in answer, much more composed than he had been.

Cid pressed their lips together. "Be right back." He slid out of bed and made his way to his kitchen in total darkness, performing the task of heating a mug of milk with familiar routine. He brought it back to the bedroom, where Vincent had turned onto his back and was staring at the ceiling. He was recalling the memories with reluctance, unable to ban them away completely.

Slipping back into bed, Cid pulled the duvet back over him and held out the mug. When it was taken from him he placed the same hand on Vincent's stomach. A reassuring weight.

Vincent was silent as he sipped his drink, letting his eyes stare hazily to some point on the opposite wall. He never spoke of his nightmares – his memories, and Cid never asked him to. But Tifa had often encouraged him to coax some feelings from Vincent, claiming it would help him heal and move on. Cid was unsure. Maybe women talked to each other for comfort, but men weren't so open and baring. Vincent had suffered too harshly to just spew his feelings. Even Cid could understand the sense of utter vulnerability and helplessness his partner must have experienced, and that was with what little imagination Cid cared to use.

"_A burden shared is a burden halved." Tifa had once said wisely._

Maybe that was true, but for Vincent to halve that burden would require a specific sort of strength that Cid wasn't sure he could find in himself. To expose his horrible past to Cid would expose his soul, something he'd been guarding with steel barriers since he'd been released from that coffin. Cid wasn't insulted or disappointed, merely sad that Vincent couldn't confide in anyone because his memories were too painful to even think about voluntarily.

"_This is Vincent we're talkin' about," Cid had sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I still think it's a miracle he even says Good Morning now. His memories are too raw and personal to start sharin' 'em with me."_

_Tifa adopted a sympathetic expression, drying a glass tumbler. "He needs to. To heal. He's still hurting, Cid…"_

_He had looked at her with solemn insecurity, surprised by her insight, uncertain to his course of action._

"_Try… won't you?"_

Cid let his eyes roam over his partner's face, watching as he took a long gulp from his drink. He hadn't promised Tifa anything. Maybe he was a little anxious. He had no right to ask Vincent to share his burdens, no right to ask Vincent to bare his soul open and vulnerable once again. And Cid wasn't sure how he himself would react to what he would hear…

But what if Vincent _did_ need someone's shoulder, metaphorical or not? What if it did help him release a few demons and ultimately ease his way of life? Cid owed him an opportunity to confide.

It was with an increasing heartbeat but a carefully masked expression when Cid decided to go for it. The hand on Vincent's belly stoked softly once, twice, before summoning the courage to settle around the man's wrist, halting its journey to his lips. This gained Vincent's attention. His crimson eyes slid to Cid's. It took another second or two for the words to come out.

"Vince… I'm always here…if yer need to talk about it…"

Something fluttered behind those eyes as they processed Cid's words, and after a second in which the silence clung to the air between them, Vincent lowered his eyes, giving two slow nods in acknowledgement.

"I know you are…" He replied, his deep voice soft, his tone… resigned. "I'm… not sure I can, right now…"

Cid said nothing for a long minute, studying the man's downcast eyelashes as his thumb began stroking the man's wrist repeatedly. "Whenever yer ready," he said quietly.

Vincent raised his eyes once again, passing Cid a look of gratefulness. He pulled his wrist free of Cid's hand to set the mug on the nightstand, before settling back down into the mattress, ready to attempt sleep again. Cid slid further into the duvet to join him, a little pleased and surprised when Vincent's hand found his and interlinked their fingers. He squeezed back.

.

**Bond**

Their heavy breathing punctuated the air and provided the only rhythm for a few recomposing moments, following their moans of completion. Their minds spiraled down from their highs slowly as they parted gingerly.

Cid ran a hand down Vincent's sweat-slicked back absently, catching back his breath as the man lowered his full weight onto Cid's front and pressed his face in the juncture of the pilot's neck and shoulder, inhaling audibly. Cid smiled lazily, squeezing his knees around the man still lying between them.

"I think I'll skip work tomorrow," Cid said sluggishly, letting his smile tilt lopsided. "If anyone asks, I'll tell 'em it's your fault."

"I'd be pleased if you did," Vincent mumbled into Cid's throat.

A fuzzy sensation floated down into Cid's brain, but it was warm and heavy in a comfortable sense. He assumed the adrenaline had worn off, and shifted them both so he could reach for the duvet that had been jostled to the end of the bed.

"Need to get cleaned off," came the muffled voice from his neck, sounding as tired as he felt.

"Too lazy," Cid argued, his voice lacking energy. His head buzzed a little.

'_ll regret.. in the morn'…._

Cid froze. "…What?" He breathed.

Vincent shifted. "Mm?"

"You… yer said somethin'… just now…"

"No, I didn't," the gunman replied, his voice falling into the quiet volume of someone accepting sleep. His hand splayed across Cid's chest as he hutched himself further onto the broader man.

… _really should wipe… down. We'll be sticky when we wake…_

Cid, completely unnerved, grabbed Vincent's shoulders and pushed him up, staring at his confused eyes as though he could answer a question Cid didn't know how to ask. The gunman's brow twitched in a visible inquiry.

_What's… wrong?_

Cid's eyes darted between Vincent's, and he could see the growing concern mounting in those ruby depths. Cid deliberately thought, _this is what's wrong. What is this?!_

Vincent recoiled, looking shocked. His eyes widened beneath a furrowed brow as he processed what he'd 'heard'. He studied Cid's face just as feverishly as his partner was doing.

_You can hear me, can't you?_ Cid demanded, urgent to know he wasn't losing his mind. The sensation was foreign, intrusive but… fuzzy and warm. He could sense things, things he couldn't identify or comprehend at that minute. Like a ball of jumbled feelings, swirling together as they began to build.

Vincent stared, his lips parted. "Yes," he whispered, gazing at Cid as though he had grown two heads.

_What - ?_

Cid felt bursting with questions, but couldn't formulate any. Words seemed to elude him. He was stunned and disorientated, and from the looks of it Vincent was feeling the same.

_What is this?"_ Cid thought again, softly.

Still staring into his blue eyes, Vincent blinked, looking like he'd been slapped. "I don't know," he hushed.

_I can't let – no – this isn't – I can't – it's me, it's my fault –_

Cid shut his eyes and knuckled his temples in a vein attempt to dispel or at least silence the bombardment of emotions being projected alongside the foreign thoughts. He shook his head and gripped Vincent's arms.

_My fault –_

"Vincent, shut up," Cid rasped, shocked with a sensation that felt like drowning. "Shut up, stop…"

_I'm hurting him, shut up – why is this – stop –_

"Vincent, please," Cid gasped. "Talk aloud!"

Vincent's hands were at his head, a look of concentration on his face. "Cid – I'm sorry. I can't seem to control this… it's… it's –"

"It's fucked up, I know," Cid said a little louder than he planned, gripping Vincent harder. "Just… just talk to me with yer voice…" He calmed himself, unaware he was pushing his composure through their strange new mental connection into Vincent. His request, he knew, wouldn't be as easy as _he_ found it; Vincent was not one for meaningless words and rambling. That probably explained why Vincent's thoughts were more active than his mouth.

_Don't let him see –_

Cid took one hand from Vincent's arm to cup his face, gaining his focus. "Hey, it's okay, we can control this… Just… concentrate on my face." He attached his own eyes onto Vincent's, following his own commands. "Let's figure out what caused this, okay?"

"Okay," Vincent repeated, his voice whispery. Nevertheless he looked controlled and composed. The skill to pull down that mask was something Cid would forever admired.

_Don't think it… don't think…_

Cid reaffirmed his hand along Vincent's jaw, thumbing his cheek and trying to ignore the stray thoughts Vincent still couldn't seem to control. "Okay…" Cid swallowed. "It's only happened tonight, hasn't it? Yer've never heard me before this, yeah?"

_Don't think – _

"Yes…"

"And…" Cid said slowly as something began to dawn on him – _him_. "This… this was the first time you topped," he stated hesitantly, feeling something clicking into place, like a puzzle piece inside his mind.

_My fault –_

Cid pulled his knees back and folded them under him, sitting more to attention. "Is it because of…" He didn't want to say it, but he didn't have to.

_Chaos –_

"One of my demons?" Vincent finished for him. His eyes lowered from Cid's, contemplating the implications and possible reasons for their sudden condition. Chaos, the most likely culprit. No one, not even Vincent, knew the full ramifications of harboring such an unknown, powerful being. Chaos was supernatural, connected to the Planet and her essence through ways they might never know.

_It's Chaos… My fault._

Cid shook his head. "It's not yer fault, babe," he soothed softly, letting his other hand fall to the gunman's thigh, which he rubbed comfortingly. "We didn't know this would happen."

_If you'd known, would you have let me - ? I shouldn't have – should have known._

"Stop," Cid demanded gently, rubbing the man's leg more firmly. "It's okay. It's not bad, it's just… strange," he admitted.

"Liar."

"I'm not lyin'."

"You don't think this is good at all," Vincent continued, his voice low and quiet.

Cid wanted to argue. Instead he sighed. "It's just gonna take some gettin' used to… Such a huge change…" He realized his eyes had strayed to Vincent's leg. He raised them to find his lover's red ones watching him intently. "But I _would_ be lyin' if I said I wasn't a little excited about this…"

_You can't mean that…_

"I do," Cid said firmly, giving Vincent a hard stare.

_Not good… it's not good…_

Something shivered through Cid's body, something he recognized but felt strangely detached from. He realized it was an emotion… but it wasn't his. That strange ball of swirling substance inside his head had become clearer, and as he focused on it, it opened to him, like a flower blooming, releasing a cloud of pollen into his mind. Each particle was saturated with the feel of _Vincent_, and he knew… they not only shared thoughts, but feelings and emotions, awareness and sensation, touch and senses, physical and mental conditions… It was almost enough to send his mind reeling, but though some newfound ability to harness this power, Cid was able to contain the flood of information and set it back into the ball, where it pulsed gently; a presence at the back of his mind.

_Amazing,_ he thought in wonder. He could become closer to Vincent than he ever thought possible. Something he'd never object to.

_Got to control… can't let them slip…_

The feeling he had initially felt floating inside him was apprehension, emanating from his partner. Turning his focus from the recesses of his newly ordered mind, Cid realized Vincent was gazing somewhere below and past him, his focus miles way.

_Won't hurt him… I won't hurt him… Hate me… Disgusted – Can't let them…_

Vincent's mind was a mess. Cid suspected, with a sad realization, that it always had been since his awakening. He understood that they were both going to be thrown into a far more intimate, testing relationship, and with someone of Vincent's past, this might cause a few problems along the way…

Well, they would have to address each issue as they came by them.

_Not in my head – don't want him in…_

Because, really… they had no other choice…

.

**Smart**

Cid found the brown, cord-handled bag sat on the only chair in his – no, _their_ – bedroom. It bared the logo and title of a high-quality clothing sore from Junon, and he could only guess it was for him. Vincent had already disappeared downstairs, presumably, preparing tea and coffee for the morning. Cid climbed out of bed and grabbed the bag, pulling from it a set of smartly folded clothes. A smile crossed his lips. So this was Vincent's desired request?

Little over seven minutes later, Cid descended from the stairs into the kitchen, tugging straight the hem of his new brown jacket's left sleeve. His blue eyes found Vincent sat at the kitchen table, waiting.

At the sight of his partner dressed in the clothes he had purchased (albeit with Cid's own money, because Vincent's inheritance was long lost since he'd technically been declared dead for thirty years, and Cid, the famous plane engineer, was distinctly rich despite his modest accommodation), Vincent slid his eyes along the overall appearance approvingly, allowing the smallest of pleased smirks to tug his lips. He said nothing as Cid approached, lifting the coffee to his lips.

"When were yer in Junon?" Cid asked conversationally as he grabbed a slice of sectioned baguette from the plate in the center of the table, and tore off a chunk while he sat down. His tea was already steaming in front of him.

Vincent lowered the mug, his eyes unnaturally bright and dilated as they watched him. Like a hawk. "Last Friday. Reeve still seems to think I'm in the employment of the WRO." Cid took to the meaning that the inventor had sent him on an errand.

"Yer measure me in my sleep or yer just that good?" Cid asked, quirking an eyebrow in mild amusement as he tipped his cup to his lips. His new clothing seemed to have been tailored to his body.

"I guessed," Vincent replied nonchalantly. He couldn't seem to take his eyes away. Cid was smugly satisfied.

"Smart-casual, is that what they call it?" Cid asked, finishing his bread slice.

Vincent responded with nod. Cid only just noticed he was back to wearing that damned leather suit again. It seems he'd had to break the gunman into his other clothes slowly. At least the cape was absent for breakfast.

"They're comfy," Cid announced positively, taking a sip from his tea. He rarely wore jeans, but he had to admit, they felt good and looked better, if he did say so himself.

"Better than those combats," Vincent said snidely. He didn't like those, for some reason.

Cid chuckled, taking another slice of baguette. He felt the white cotton shirt pull against the action, and had to admit it felt nice against his skin in that crisp, new-material way. When he'd finished his breakfast he stood from the table, giving a stretch.

"You do know I'm at work today?" Cid asked. Work equaled grease, hydraulic fluid, grime, lubricant and various other clothes-staining substances.

"I told them you'd be busy."

Cid stared as a grin crept over his face. "I see. Keepin' me all to yerself?"

"Something like that."

Cid cocked his head. "Got any plans for the day then?"

Vincent raised the coffee mug back to his lips. "Maybe…"

.

**Clothing ref: ** . /-H2tiYly0Q9g/TjCJ-KV-omI/AAAAAAAAAQg/qq6EEG6BEmI/s1600/smart%

.

**Understanding**

It wasn't easy. They knew it wouldn't be, but that didn't prepare them. Fatigue didn't help matters. They hadn't been able to sleep since the connection was made the previous morning. The last few hours had been tiring on a level they'd never felt before.

Cid gasped suddenly, stumbling on the small pathway to his front door as an assault of strong emotion struck him like a battering ram. His hand shot to his head as brutal images forced their way into his mind, ripping through his poor defenses to the forefront. They raced past his eyes, unrelenting –

Tools of various sinister functions gleamed in the painfully bright spotlight, which hung threateningly above him. He felt terrified. He was restrained, he was paralyzed – a bolt of sharp agony – the likes of which he'd _never_ felt before – seared through his abdomen and between the flashes of blindness he could make out a figure bending over him, face covered by a white filtration mask – A jolt of excruciating electricity wracked his body, and he jerked violently, his restraints tearing into his skin. He was paralyzed – sedated – he couldn't escape – his mind felt like it would explode. He wanted to die –

Cid screamed aloud before he caught himself, blinking back to reality. He found himself on one knee, clutching his stomach and head as the residual pain ebbed away quickly, like a fast-fading memory.

It _was_ a memory. But not his.

Panting heavily, Cid climbed shakily to his feet. He felt sick, he was going to throw up. He fell against the brick wall beside his kitchen door and inhaled desperately, trying to clear the overwhelming nausea.

_Stop – I can't take – STOP – no! NO! Can't – pain – kill – kill me – it's – don't do it – don't –_

Cid gulped for air, for sanity. Vincent was overpowering his mind, he couldn't hear himself – was he Vincent? No – he was Cid! Cid Highwind –

_It hurts! – Make it – make it stop – no one – just him – stop! I can't –!_

Swallowing forcefully, Cid pushed himself off the wall, the world spinning, and wrenched open the front door –

Needles pierced his skin in sharp stabbing pains. He could feel their contents being injected into him, feel the cold fluid travel through his veins like ice, burning as they circulated his body. A sudden wave of pain shot through him, but he couldn't move. He could never move. His heart was racing so hard but he couldn't feel it against the pain now attacking every nerve in his body. Tears of agony were streaming from his eyes, his own mind was screaming itself hoarse. Yet through it all, in the background, somewhere outside the torment in his body a voice droned into a handheld device, calmly documenting his reactions…

Cid turned his wild blue eyes to the kitchen table. There, in one of the chairs, sat Vincent, slumped over the wooden surface. He'd finally fallen asleep. His chest heaved with deep breaths, his hands clenched and unclenched, his head jerked, his face twisted. Cid could hear him murmuring weakly, distressed. He had to wake him. He was projecting his dreams – his memories – into Cid's head unknowingly.

"Vincent," Cid croaked, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that had blurred his vision. He could still feel the ghosting pains. "Vincent, wake up," he said loudly, crossing the kitchen on legs made of jelly. He thought he'd fall, but he made it to the table, still feeling sick to his stomach. His heart was pounding painfully, he felt drained. His body was most likely in shock; he'd never experienced something so vivid and horrifying.

_It's not – not… Hurts – agony – stop, no, no, not that – no!_

"Vincent," Cid shook him hard, both hands on one shoulder. He had sunk to his knees by Vincent's side, unable to stand. His vision was blackening. "Vincent, wake up! Vincent!"

_Please… don't do this…_

"Babe," Cid felt himself pleading. He gasped a lungful of needed air. He lowered his lips to Vincent's ear. "Wake up now. I need yer to wake up…"

_Please…_

"Vincent!"

The man shot awake with a gasp. He stared in confusion at the wall of the kitchen, blinking hard, swallowing against the dryness in his throat before realizing Cid was knelt by his side, watching with a look of complete weariness. Cid smiled weakly, reaching up to cup Vincent's face.

"It's okay," he breathed, breathless. "Yer awake."

Dawning realization seem to spread across the gunman's face as he took in Cid's state. His lips parted in solemn horror.

"Cid… Cid… I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

The pilot reached up to slide a hand against the back of Vincent's neck, pulling him down until their foreheads met. He closed his eyes, exhausted. "It's okay," he said softly. "It's okay… it's okay…"

Cringing mentally, Cid admonished himself. It wasn't okay…

.

**Offer. Accept.**

Vincent didn't realize the full implications straight away when the small object was held out to him.

"Here," Cid had said, holding it out for the gunman to take. From his tanned fist hung a white-gold chain, on the end of which was looped a ring. Cid's sudden presentation of the gift may have been unexpected, but the man looked confident and composed, smiling calmly.

Vincent opened his right palm and the chain with its circular addition was lowered onto it. He examined the plain ring, taking note of the quality and smoothness. Its weight suggested its worth.

"Let me?"

Vincent raised his eyes to Cid's request, catching on by the way his hands were raised expectantly, waiting for permission. He understood then. With a small smile affecting his stoic composure, Vincent returned the chain to Cid's hands, using his own to hold his hair away from his nape. He caught a glimpse of something identical hanging under the pilot's unbuttoned shirt. A warm feeling spread through him.

Cid unclasped the chain, his eyes locked onto his partner's, and reached around to fasten it behind Vincent's neck. He ran his fingers back under the links as they fell to rest on the smooth skin of Vincent's collarbones, letting the ring dangle just above his sternum. Cid smiled.

"I'm not changing my name," Vincent said in a wry tone, his eyes twinkling.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Cid told him, grinning.

/


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I actually found this lot the other day on my hard drive. It was written just after the first chapter and I completely forgot about it. Anyway, most of them relate to stuff in the first lot, just so yanno. Enjoy.

**Right There**

Had Vincent known about it before he would have used it to his advantage. It was an accident, really. He hadn't intentionally meant to brush that spot. He was just waking from a deep, satisfying sleep, he hadn't even opened his eyes yet, but he could sense the close proximity of his partner, could smell his scent before he'd even registered his own awareness.

It was an innocent act, really. He let a contented sigh through his nose as he shifted to ease off the sensation of pins and needles in his arm. The slight movement had closed what little space there was between them. His lips brushed Cid's skin, and it wasn't until the man stiffened and moaned in a carnal tone did Vincent open his eyes curiously to see he had touched the shell of Cid's ear. His breath, he realized, had tickled the soft skin behind it.

"Nnnn, Vince…" Cid grunted quietly, _erotically_. It shot straight down Vincent's spine and for a second he could only breathe, repeating the sound in his mind. Before he could do anything else – like abuse that spot for all its worth – Cid sat up in bed with a little too much vigor. His hand absently brushed the hair behind his ear, as though it had been the culprit. "Breakfast," was all he muttered before climbing out of bed and disappearing from the bedroom.

Vincent stared dumbly after him for a second before a smile crossed his lips. An uncharacteristically, devious smile.

/

**Dangerous**

No one really knew the true extent of Chaos' power. No one really wanted to dwell on it. 'No one' included only a handful of people on the entire Planet, because the very existence of such a creature, such a _weapon_, could cause wide-spread panic that would leave nothing but turmoil and terror ruling the lives of the population. Vincent would never have a normal life… even _if_ the scientists didn't get him first…

Cid wondered what had deluded him into thinking their life would continue to run to a future where their secret remained so. What made him so blind to think a being of Chaos' magnitude would remain locked away, docile? They should have prepared for this… they should have realized Vincent would never be able to control it so completely. Why didn't they talk about it?

Because of ignorance. And because of solicitude.

No one wanted to confront Vincent on such a painful matter. He had to endure the constant reminder of what he was, regardless. So no one discussed what _might_ happen, no one wanted to dredge up such bad memories from Vincent, no one discussed the _possibility_ of a 'breakout'.

So no one could help when it happened.

/

**Care**

Vincent, admittedly, had never had the occasion to take care of someone. Never in his pre-freak days had any of his former 'acquaintances' ever caught an illness while he was dating them. None of them, he recalled, had ever been more than half-hearted attempts at a relationship, so even if they had he would never had felt obliged to be there for them if they had come down with anything.

Not like now.

Eyeing the small text on the back of the little box he had picked up, Vincent caught enough information to know that these pills weren't going to help the flu. In fact, unless Cid had any rashes Vincent didn't know about the box of medication wouldn't do any good at all.

Vincent put it back, choosing his next box, now taking the front text into consideration. One box claimed relief from pain – no, wait, period pain – so Vincent gingerly put it back.

"Can I help – oh, Vincent!" Came a voice from his right.

He turned to find a vaguely familiar face beaming friendly at him. The middle-aged woman was wearing the store's uniform. Though he couldn't remember her name, she – like everyone else in Rocket Town – knew Cid, and with the pilot's celebrity status it was a given that everyone know who he was living with.

"How are you both?" She asked, looking up at him fondly.

"Cid's ill," Vincent stated, and if people didn't know him they'd misinterpret his emotionless tone as someone who couldn't give a shit. "He has flu."

The woman's face fell in sympathy. "Oh, no," she said, "that's most unlike the Captain. Was he working out in that hanger again? In this weather?" She shook his head as though he'd already given her the answer. Or maybe she just knew, like they all knew Cid Highwind. "He rarely catches colds, not to mention the flu, and only has when he's been working in the cold."

Vincent pretended he wasn't jealous how well everyone in the town knew the pilot.

The woman took a box of pills from the shelf near the top and pressed it into Vincent's hands. "Paracetemol will help the symptoms," she told him kindly. "But make sure he gets plenty of rest and drinks lots of fluids. And…" she paused for effect and adopted a stern expression. "Keep him from those awful cigarettes. They won't do him any good in his condition."

Vincent would have argued that he'd probably have to kill the man to take his cigarettes away, defeating the purpose of the paracetamol, but people tended to think that whenever he said something he was always serious. So he kept his mouth shut, he didn't want people assuming he had homicidal tendencies.

He paid for the medication, and with most of the staff wishing Cid a good recovery, Vincent left the store and stepped out into three inches of snow. It was still falling, collecting in his hair as he made his way back to the Highwind house. The cold stung his face and the snow crunched under his feet, and he was glad to close the door on the white weather when he stepped into the kitchen. Snow fell from his cape as he pulled it off, and clumps clung to his boots as he shucked them onto the doormat.

The kitchen was warm as Vincent moved to switch on the kettle, preparing _something_ he knew that would soothe an ill throat. Someone shuffled into the kitchen behind him from the living room. He looked over his shoulder.

"I thought you were in bed," Vincent said, returning his gaze to the cup.

Cid sat heavily into one of the chairs around the table. "Needed to move about. Hate sittin' still." He sounded bunged up and hoarse.

When the drink was made Vincent turned to his partner and set the mug down in front of his slumped form, pulling the box of medication from his pocket. He carefully read the directions for dosage on the back.

"Yer've never taken much medicine before, have yer?" Cid observed with a faint tone of amusement, lifting the steaming cup of tea to his lips. He felt shaky and shivery, but was trying his best to look composed.

Vincent continued to scrutinize the packet. "No," he replied simply, still reading. "Considering that this is the first time I've picked up medication in over thirty years I figured it'd be wise to read the instructions." He raised his eyes to shoot Cid a smart look.

Cid managed to offer a smirk before dropping his head onto a folded arm, unable to keep it upright any longer. "Whatever it is, it better knock me out," he mumbled into his long cotton sleeve.

"The woman at the store said it'll help with your symptoms, but you should get lots of rest."

"Maggie? She's prob'ly right." Cid gave a loud sniff and rummaged in his slacks pocket for a tissue. He found a crumpled one and blew his nose.

Vincent opened the box and popped out two circular pills from the foil tray. "Take these," he ordered, waiting for Cid to outstretch his hand.

Obediently, although with a somewhat grudging look on his face, Cid took the pills and tossed them both back, taking another gulp of his tea. He almost coughed them back up as they irritated his sore throat in passing. He sighed miserably and rested his aching head on his free hand, the other still curled around the mug. When he raised his bleary eyes to Vincent's, he found the man smiling (slight, though it was) at him.

"What?" Cid croaked, clearing his throat.

Vincent said nothing for a few seconds. "You look…"

Cid raised a questioning eyebrow. "Look what?"

"…Endearing," Vincent said, almost timidly. Except Vincent didn't do timid, so Cid couldn't really describe it.

He fixed the gunman with a cynical gaze. "Yer _like_ me lookin' ill?"

"It seems to be the only reason you'd wear _those_."

Cid looked down at his bed shirt; an old white, long-sleeved top that was slightly too big but really comfy, the cuffs of which slid past his knuckles. His gray slacks were the other half of the set, hanging past his heels. He could only assume Vincent enjoyed the appearance of him in something so… boyishly casual.

"Yer right," Cid agreed stoutly, "I wouldn't wear these any other time. I don't care how much yer like 'em, either."

"Shame."

Cid gave him a look, but the intended effect was lost when a coughing fit hit him. When it passed he slumped onto the table once more with a miserable groan.

"Maybe you should go back to bed." Vincent suggested. It was clear he had no idea how to care for people, let alone show sympathy.

"I will if yer join me," Cid said into the table, his voice muffled again.

"Maggie said you should rest," Vincent replied with an argumentative edge to his tone.

Cid laughed, which led him to another coughing spree. "I meant to cuddle me, shit-for-brains, not fuck me."

Vincent would have laughed if he was prone to do so, but instead he let a sliver of a smile cross his features (a testament to his 'recovery'). "When did cuddling ever stop at that?"

Cid tilted his head. "Good point, but I'm too ill to even get it up, so I think we're safe, Vince."

Vincent stood. "Fine." If Cid didn't know better he'd have thought Vincent was being forced reluctantly.

With his partner's help, Cid hobbled from the kitchen, up the stairs and to their bedroom, where he gratefully fell into the soft bed and let his head sink into the pillows. The mattress dipped behind him and Vincent's warm body rested down behind him, tucking close and pulling the duvet over them both. Cid realized he was shivering, even though he was sweating. Damn flu.

An arm encircled his waist and he felt his shuddering relax. A smile crept over his face. Vincent wasn't as cold as he sometimes liked to think he was. He placed his own hand over Vincent's.

"Good job you can't catch illnesses," Cid mumbled, already feeling the heavy, flu-induced calling of sleep weighing down his eyelids.

For a long time Vincent didn't say anything, and Cid was almost asleep. Then he heard:

"I would still lie with you…"

Cid fell asleep with a smile on his face.

/

**Damnation**

Cid was having nightmares of his own. He would wake in a cold sweat, his mind reeling with the visions that he had been experiencing, his chest heaving with ragged gasps. Beside him, sometimes, Vincent would be still, too exhausted for his consciousness to wake him from bad memories. Other times he would be shouting. And occasionally they would both jerk awake, having shared the same nightmare. The same memory. And always, they were Vincent's.

Their mental bond was straining their minds. Nothing like this phenomenon had ever happened before in the history of the Planet, and trying to find a cure, a way of help, was non-existent. They had no one to seek advice from, no one to offer an explanation. They were very much alone, yet at the same time constantly together.

Cid realized with a lead-filled gut that such a bond might not have been so awful, even bearable, if… if both minds were… ordinary. Vincent's past was horrific and refused to leave him alone. Cid had never truly known how much the memories had plagued him, it was easy to forget when Vincent said little and showed even less. It seemed that Vincent's mind was much, much more active than his outward appearance, totally opposite, even. His face had always been the epitome of cool and collected, and his actions were just as leveled and controlled. His thoughts, however, were a complete mess. They rolled over each other, bad visions fighting for dominance inside his mind, torturing him day in and day out. It was hard to believe that he had survived as he had with such memories attacking his consciousness.

Vincent had never wanted Cid to know what had happened to him in that lab. He had never spoken about it. Now… now, Cid had _seen_ it. He had witnessed it first-hand, watching from Vincent's point of view as he was violated by cold, cruel instruments; tortured by merciless experiments and inhumane tests. He had suffered to the point of insanity – and he _had_ actually lost his mind (Cid could _never_ forget the feeling) – only to regain it slowly in the cruel, drug-induced sleep that had lasted nearly thirty years.

How could anyone have survived with their sanity intact? Vincent had, and it was that strength, that mysterious stubbornness that Cid was depending on now. They would work through this; they would adapt and learn to control it. Cid really believed that they would, because as extraordinary as their mental connection was, Vincent's very existence was just as miraculous.

/

**Destruction**

It was easy to forget the immense power. After all, it was concealed inside a single human soul, with no visible evidence it was even there. For that, it seemed harder to believe that such a person could contain it at all, especially in the face of what carnage it could spread.

Ruined villages lay smoking and devastated amongst the leveled hills and surrounding landscape. There were no cries of loss, no shouts of calling… no people left. The silence was much, much worse.

Cid stood in the wreckage of a building; a skeleton of timber beams and blacked walls. Sunlight filtered in through the fallen-in roof, catching the dust and debris still floating in the air, glittering like it was a surreal movie-set. Cid wished it was… then everything wouldn't be real.

Behind him, Barret exhaled in barely controlled horror. Somewhere else Tifa uttered something similar, her small gasp cut like a knife through the silent air.

"I don't think we'll find survivors," Cid intoned listlessly. His eyes fell on the charred remains of something in the far corner, but it was indistinguishable from the rest of the village. He tightened his grip on his spear until his knuckles turned white.

"How'd he do this so quickly?" Barret wondered aloud, disbelief evident in his voice.

Cid winced gravely. He wished Barret hadn't said 'he'.

He felt more than heard Tifa approach him, lingering carefully behind him. "We should continue…" She said softly, but there was an urgent edge to her voice, and he understood as well as she did the cost of delay. "We might be able to counter him before he reaches… anywhere else…"

"It's not '_him'_," Cid said firmly, his voice barely screening the raw emotion behind his declaration. "It's '_it'_… Vincent isn't responsible…"

Tifa and Barret's presence shifted. But they understood. A hand rested on Cid's marred bicep.

"We'll get him back, Cid," Tifa said gently.

Cid raised his chin and fixed his eyes on the bright sky. "Yeah…" he replied distantly. He didn't believe her.

"Let's go," Barret's strong voice spoke from behind them. It was time to leave.

Without another word, the trio traipsed out of the building and took to the sky in the _Tiny Bronco II_, following the path of destruction as it led away…

/

**Soft**

The first time they kissed, it had been on Cid's advancement. He'd been aware of the gunman for weeks since their travels with Avalanche, but he'd been _thinking_ about Vincent for the past few days. It had been slow, but somehow he had found himself contemplating more and more on the mysterious man. They had become friends, something the other members of Avalanche had been unable to do. Vincent hadn't let them get as close as he had the pilot, he hadn't accepted any of their invitations to friendship like he had Cid's.

They'd room together in the many inns they accommodated; share conversations that Cid was certain Vincent would never share with the others. He opened up to the pilot, just a little, and Cid would reciprocate. However, for all that he knew of Vincent, the gunman was still a mystery, with a dark past that prevented him the most human of capabilities; such as laughing.

It was in one of these many inns that Cid found himself watching Vincent. The weather outside was snowing, but the fire in their room crackled warmly, heating the room. It provided the only light, and it wasn't the first time Cid admired how firelight illuminated Vincent's flawless features. He was sat on his bed, unhooking the snow-slicked clasps of his cape slowly, as if for Cid's visual benefit.

He didn't really recall telling his legs to take him over to the bed, but he did remember sitting down slowly, gaining Vincent's attention as their arms brushed. Their eyes met, and Cid was struck by how beautiful they really were, especially this close. They were watching him cautiously, and – he was pleased to see – expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

He had nothing _to_ say. Cid was acting on an impulse he had finally decided to let free. He closed the gap between their lips, slowly, giving the gunman time to retreat if he wanted. But he didn't. Cid pressed his lips to Vincent's, feeling them give against his slight pressure, but gave no action in return. Cid had told himself that there was a higher chance the kiss wouldn't be returned, and was about to pull back when Vincent began to respond, tentatively. It was chaste, warm and soft, and as Cid pressed for another, and another, Vincent's reactions became surer, hotter. It was better than Cid had imagined.

When they parted Cid left just enough space between them that their noses just barely touched. He opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – and found Vincent's lashes, eyes lowered to Cid's lips. His own were parted, and he had never looked so sexy.

Cid said nothing, not even when Vincent's crimson eyes rose to find his. There was something unreadable in them, something that he couldn't confirm what he'd done was good or not.

But his answer seemed apparent when, pressing forward again to test his luck, Vincent reacted mutually, and their lips pressed together once again, more confident but just as tender. The fire crackling in the background provided the perfect ambience.

He didn't remember much after that, the details were vague. But two years later, when he was watching Vincent settle down by his side in bed, he realized he must have done something right during that first kiss to have earned the affections of such a man.

He'd probably never realize it, but as Vincent glanced over as Cid pulled the duvet over them both, _he_ found the exact same thought running through his head.

/

**Reality**

The air was cool against his arms and face, the floor beneath his bare feet was like ice. His senses told him there was no heating, the temperature was below comfortable. His other senses transmitted further details, such as the harsh, strict smell of sterilization and… the metallic lingering scent of blood. His hearing detected a constant sound – all these things felt so real, so clear.

But he knew this was a dream.

Dreams weren't suppose to feel this real. They weren't supposed to project such a feeling of cold dread, of foreboding.

The emotions almost choked him. He had never experienced the current level of _impression_ he felt right now, and he knew:

They weren't his thoughts, his feelings, or even his senses. This wasn't his dream.

Yet there he stood. An intruder, an outsider. His own awareness was tangled into the chaotic strings of someone else's. It was in their dream he stood, using their senses to recast the memory, experiencing their emotions. It was strange; he was himself, yet he was half of them.

There was a table slab in the center of the cold room. Someone was lying on it. Around them various flat screen monitors displayed their digital readings in green. One of them was emitting the noise his – _their_ – ears could hear; a steady beep, visualized by a consistent jerk of a line, traveling repeatedly across a black graph. Figures switched back and forth, undecided. The machinery hummed quietly. He hated their sounds. They hurt him, but he couldn't understand how.

He approached the table, the sensation of cold tiles against the soles of his feet was barely acknowledged, and yet they sent stinging bolts through his nerves with every footstep. He didn't know how to process these duel feelings. His own were there somewhere, but he couldn't distinguish them.

The lighting was low, dim, barely weakening the shadows that tried to cling to the four corners. The single, brightest light in the room hung like a miniature sun from a thin, metal stand, facing down upon the table to throw the person lying there into stark illumination.

He recognized him immediately, but the usual volley of warm feelings that manifested in association with the man did not emerge, as though they couldn't. They were not welcome in this hostile environment.

He noticed the tube, first, disappearing between the man's colorless lips, secured by a white strap of material that encircled his head. It was delivering something into the man, something colorless.

He noticed the metal restraints, second. They were thick, strong, and seemed completely unnecessary for the captive. They were as cold as the tiles on the floor, even though he hadn't even touched them.

Various tubes, thin and thick, were attached to the man. Liquids could be seen passing through some of them, and he shuddered as he felt the icy sensation of fluid streaming into his veins, traveling through his body. Absently he touched his skin, yet there were no wires there.

He was aware the man on the table was almost completely naked. Goosebumps marred his skin, and he looked from the paleness of the captive to the contrast of long, dark hair that spilled over the edge of the table. It was longer than it used to be, and the feel of soft tresses tickled the backs of his arms and the dip of his spine. But it wasn't his recollection, it wasn't his hair.

Finally, as though he had been delaying it for some reason unknown, he directed his gaze to the man's face. A heartbreakingly beautiful array of features, mournfully devoid of life, yet alive in an empty, desolate sense.

Something cold struck his heart, jolting it painfully as he saw that the captive's eyes – a supernatural hue of crimson – were open, if just barely. He was conscious, aware in the literal sense; aware of his pain, aware of his fear, aware of his utter vulnerability and hopelessness. Aware his body was being changed and reconstructed from the inside. Aware that he could do nothing…

The emotions came crashing down on him, as though by laying his eyes on the man's, he had opened the gate that had contained them. He grabbed his head and opened his mouth to scream, but no sound passed his lips. He felt every negative feeling he could possibly recognize rush through him, clawing for dominance in his tormented mind. His body burned and seared, his soul wailed in anguish.

He wanted to die.

The fear consumed him until he couldn't recognize his body, he couldn't feel his limbs – they were on another plane of existence, and here… here he was suffering so aggressively his very identity was ripped from him. He wasn't anything any more. He could only feel – horrific pains and agonies that tore his mind in two. Blackness everywhere, he had no senses to see otherwise –

Cid woke. He stared at the ceiling.

Slowly, his bodily senses returned to him, his _own_ senses. He reached out with his awareness and detected the vague, lingering scent of the fabric detergent on the duvet. He felt the comfortable cotton against his arms and hands as he shifted them minutely. He could hear the hum of the kitchen appliances downstairs, barely audible even in the dead of night. He was alright. He was Cid.

Swallowing to wet the terrible dryness in his throat, Cid blinked. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it, yet he felt calm.

Dreams shouldn't be that intense.

Cid turned his head to look at his sleeping partner. Vincent's face had turned to him in the night, his hair splayed everywhere, across the pillows, his shoulders, his cheeks… a few strands trailed from the corner of his lips. He'd been tossing his head, but now… now he was eerily still.

Cid swallowed again and lifted a hand from the warm confines of the duvet, fingering away the hair gently from Vincent's mouth and cheeks. He cupped the man's face, and something painful wrenched at his heart. Vincent was everything to him, he would do anything for the man. But he couldn't chase away his nightmares, his memories… his past. It would always be there to torment and hurt him. But at least Cid could be there, too.

Thumbing Vincent's cheek, Cid stirred his partner from sleep, coaxing him back into consciousness. Those rare, blood-red eyes slid open slightly, fighting the cruel hold of his nightmare. His lips parted and he inhaled, drawing in refreshing oxygen. He was free.

"How're we gonna stop them…?" Cid whispered.

Vincent watched him, his eyes sedated. "I don't think we can," he answered just as quietly. Resigned.

Cid said nothing for a long time, taking comfort in the way Vincent seemed to relax under his gaze. "I wanna protect you."

A hand found his own and rested over it. Vincent held his gaze. "You do."

They said nothing more to each other, but neither went back to sleep.

/

**Barriers**

It was a huge step for them, a huge achievement. They had managed to use the mental bond to their advantage, and though it took many weeks, and though there were still gaps and slip-ups, they were relieved.

Cid had proposed the idea first. Vincent had refused initially, as it meant diving into his mind even deeper than Cid had been before; but he had eventually agreed, if only for the need to protect his partner from any further destroying memories that hadn't yet been broadcasted. There had been plenty that Cid hadn't seen – a fact that chilled Cid to the bone. He had, after all, seen enough to cause him physical sickness.

They began with only a hope that it would work, neither knew if they could do it. But as the days passed by, they realized their efforts were being rewarded.

The idea, Cid admitted one day, came from the first time they had sensed each other's thoughts, when the bond had been created. The pilot had detected a strange sensation inside his mind, a ball of Vincent's thoughts and feelings – a ball that he could open and close at will. Vincent experienced this same feature of their connection, but was much less aware of it amongst the complete disarray of his mind. Cid encouraged him to focus on it, and from there, they began the construction of a second, similar ball – an enclosure. It would be in this ball where Vincent would lock away his memories from Cid's awareness, and though they would always be open to Vincent, he could control them in a way he never thought possible.

After several weeks, they no longer suffered the nightmares. The random memory attacks had ceased, as well. But perhaps the best benefit of the new barriers was the noticeable lightness of Vincent's mind, the sense of lifted weights. He was happier, he felt more secure, and though he never said it, he was immensely grateful that Cid had convinced him to do it.

And now, for the first time since their connection, they reached out voluntarily to each other – cautiously at first – experimenting with their strange powers, feeling each other in a way they couldn't physically.

What Vincent had feared was a terrible burden, and what Cid had wondered could be potentially disastrous, their mental bond had now transformed into something amazing.

/

**Different**

He could see them glancing discreetly – and sometimes brazenly – at him whenever he ventured into populated areas. He could hear them, too, sometimes, muttering about him as he passed, evidently ignorant to his enhanced hearing. He didn't really care, he couldn't really blame them. He did dress differently, favoring his stark black leather and heavy, striking red cape. The gauntlet received the majority of double-takes, but he didn't mind people taking note of its sharp talons; it reminded them of his capability to defend himself, because his biggest strengths, his more powerful weapons, were undetectable. His gun, strapped to his right thigh, served to reinforce his threatening aura, and he was in no hurry to change that.

The one thing he did mind was the one thing he couldn't change. His clothing he could remove if he so wanted, his gun he could remove if he so wanted. Hell, even his gauntlet he could remove if he so wanted.

But his eyes couldn't be so easily changed.

The mutter of people as he passed would comment on his general attire, gleaming all but a brief overview of his person; but those who had the chance to gain a closer look saw the real distinction between him and _them_. Their gazes would linger rudely, their expressions left open for him to read, but he would be gone before they could muster any courage to verbally remark on the subject. Whispers would hiss behind his back, and he would always catch the word "red".

Comments on his outfit were tolerable, murmurs on his weapons was acceptable. But whispers of his red eyes always served to remind him he was different.

What was worse was that for all the changes of his body Hojo had made, his red eyes hadn't been one of them…

/

**Rendezvous**

Cid was no stranger to the high-society circles and the huge corporate heads speaking business lingo, which, despite his deceiving appearance, he was fluent in. As a famous and highly competent plane engineer he attended many meetings, parties, appointments and formal gatherings in the name of his business. Both sides were completely different, but they were used to him, and he was used to them.

He was, however, unused to dressing like them. A crisp suit jacket, white shirt, ironed black pants, a tie to match his eyes and shoes that pinched his toes currently clothed his body, and despite admitting he looked good, he felt wrong.

Hooking a finger under the shirt collar and tugging uselessly, Cid muttered something negative as he waited.

"Stop fidgeting," Tifa admonished, stood beside him and looking every bit as formal, but much more comfortable, in her sleek, long black dress and high heels. Her dangly earrings sparkled in the dim mood lights of the small foyer. She enjoyed this sort of thing. He did not. "You look dashing," she added with a smile. "Who knew Cid Highwind would clean up so well?"

"Yeah, well, take a fuckin' picture 'cause it won't last," Cid grumbled, giving his collar another jerk. He hadn't worn a tie in years.

"I just might," she threatened.

He gave her a wary look before returning his gaze to the entrance. They were waiting for the others.

"Will Vincent come?" Tifa asked.

Cid threw back the jacket from his hips and propped his hands there impatiently. "He might. I laid out his suit for 'im, but I ain't seen 'im in a few days. Bastard just takes off sometimes."

Tifa's eyes glanced down at the chain around Cid's neck, just visible under the white collar. "How's normal life treating him?"

At this Cid smirked. "He ain't used to it," he stated easily. "He can't seem to hang around in Rocket Town any longer than a month before he takes off for a few weeks."

If Tifa was going to say anything she was interrupted when the front doors opened and in walked a smart, tuxedoed Barret, looking just how Cid felt in his.

"Reeve better be supplyin' alcohol at this party," Barret growled, wrestling with his own collar. Tifa smacked his hand away and readjusted his tie.

"I'm with yer there," Cid muttered.

The doors opened yet again as Cloud walked in, wearing his suit as naturally as he would anything else. The young man could make a tutu look classy.

"Cloud," Tifa acknowledged, a pleasing tone in her voice. "Did you see anyone else out there?"

Cloud nodded shortly, his hair – spiky as always, probably untamable even for high-class parties – bounced with the movement. "Yuffie was just coming in. Seems Godo wanted her to arrive in style. I doubt the escort vehicles would have been her idea."

On cue, Yuffie entered through the expensive mahogany doors thanks to the two guards who had opened them for her. She didn't look pleased as she stormed towards them. The guards retreated, probably waiting until the party was over to transport her home.

"I hate my dad," she barked when she was within hearing range. Although actually, 'hearing range' for Yuffie could have included outside.

"You're a princess, get used to it," Barret retorted, still grouchy.

"You look really nice, Yuffie," Tifa said, attempting to divert the arguments that were bound to start.

Like someone changing the channel, Yuffie's sour mood instantly disappeared and she beamed, striking a pose. "Of course I do," she answered, but it was good-natured instead of egotistic. She did appear to look the part of the daughter of a Lord for once, adorned in an expensive silk dress with intricate patterns. Her bandana was gone, but through her short cut hair a pair of earrings glistened.

She turned her attention to Cid and Barret. "Now there's a sight we won't see again."

"Yer fuckin' right!" both Barret and Cid chimed.

Amid the chuckles the sound of the door opening was almost missed, but Tifa, who was facing that direction, noticed the new appearance and her welcoming smile turned everyone else around to find Nanaki padding over to them. (The concierge stared dumbly at him as he passed).

"Sorry I'm late," Nanaki said politely. His usual feather had been replaced by an ornamental gold headdress that sat majestically between his ears and through his mane. Even Nanaki could dress for occasion.

"Nice head piece, Red," Yuffie said, running her hand along a thin metal band carefully.

"You all look very impressive," the hound noticed, smiling at his friends. He cast his one good eye around them and his muzzle dropped slightly. "Where's Vincent?"

Everyone looked at Cid. He shrugged. "I don't know. He might not be comin'."

Yuffie uttered a noise of disappointment. "I really wanted to see what he looks like in a suit. I don't think I've ever seen him wear _anything_ other than his leather and cape."

Cid cocked his head and let his eyes wander as visions of Vincent wearing nothing popped into his head.

"We should go in, then," Tifa announced, looking over at the inner entrance doorways, through which she'd watched people come and go. "Reeve will be waiting."

As they all turned and headed to the expensive set of double doors opposite the exit pair, Cid glanced back at them, wondering if by doing so Vincent might walk through them. He didn't.

Cid followed the rest of Avalanche from the foyer, into the dinning area to greet Reeve.

/


	3. Chapter 3

I really should change the title to Short Stories. There's no way these classify as drabbles any more. Also, I was going over the previous chapters and couldn't help cringing at how some of them sounded. Hope they're getting better than that.

.

**The Valentine**

The bar was busy, as it usually was on a Saturday night. Seventh Heaven was a favored place for many locals, and even outside visitors. The air was heavy with the buzz of talk and liquor.

Cid stood from the table he was sharing with Barret, Cloud and several of his close crewmembers, taking his half-empty pint of beer with him to the man sat at the bar talking to Tifa. She wandered off as he approached.

"Hey, beautiful," Cid said, propping himself against the countertop and leaning intimately close. "What's your name?"

The man's crimson eyes warmed but didn't turn to him. He sighed in vague amusement. "Cid…"

"What a coincidence, that's my name, too."

Vincent's eyes slid to him from their corners, the faintest of smiles tugging the corner of his lips.

Cid grinned. "C'mon, play along yer borin' bastard. If yer won't have fun at our table –" He jerked his head at the group he'd left "– I'll just have to improvise. Now c'mon…" He lowered his elbow back onto the bar top. "Let me buy you a drink..." He trailed off meaningfully, gesturing encouragingly.

"Vincent."

Cid smiled again. "Vincent. Good old-fashioned name." He leaned in much closer, noses almost touching. "I could get used to sayin' that."

"I could think of better uses for your mouth than saying my name."

The pilot's eyes twinkled and his lips twitched. "Oh yeah?" He said huskily, his eyes dropping to Vincent's mouth. "And what would they be?"

"It can start by ordering me that drink," Vincent broke the hazy lust abruptly and turned back to the bar.

Cid pulled back and shook his head. "Damnit, Vince, you just ruined a perfectly hot, boner-worthy mood."

"Should we be encouraging that in a public bar? A little obscene, don't you think?"

Cid made a face, soured by Vincent's inability to maintain a bit of dirty talk. But he wiped it away with a fond roll of his eyes. He finally pulled up the stool next to the man and sat down, hutching it closer.

"Yer want that drink, then?" Cid asked rhetorically. He caught Tifa's eye from the other side of the bar and drew her over.

"Finally fed up talking about Fenrir upgrades?" Tifa asked with a smile, indicating the table across the bar.

"Never," Cid answered easily. "Can you mix up the _strongest_ cocktail yer know; for Vince? And make it pretty," he added with a sardonic smile to his partner.

Tifa's lips curved in humor and she turned away to fulfill his order. Cid took a swig of his beer, eyes still locked on Vincent's clear red ones until Tifa returned and placed a tall, colorful concoction in front of them; with a few decorative additions.

"Don't let anyone else see that," she warned. "If they want one it'll probably kill them."

Cid grinned, but as Vincent reached for it tentatively, the pilot snatched it first, adopting a mischievous expression. "Yer wanted me to put my mouth to better use," he began. With that, he brought the glass to his lips and drew the fruity – and holy shit _strong_ – mix into his mouth with curious red eyes watching closely. Before Vincent could raise an eyebrow, Cid took his chin in hand and pressed their lips together, coaxing his partner's mouth open with his tongue. He tilted the gunman's face back as the man's lips parted and slid the cocktail into his partner. He felt Vincent swallow, and damn if this wasn't turning Cid on. The blond indulged a little longer, teasing the taste around both their tongues, sucking at the gunman's bottom lip before stealing another couple of hot and firm kisses.

When they parted Cid watched Vincent's heavy-lidded eyes open, eliciting a stab of arousal in his gut. The red of the gunman's irises were mere rings around his blown pupils.

"I'll call that one The Valentine," Tifa's voice floated from behind the counter.

Vincent ran his tongue along his lips subtly, licking off the lingering taste – just the sight had Cid half hard already.

"Verdict?" Tifa asked.

Vincent looked at Cid, but to Tifa he said, "intoxicating."

"Coming from you, that is high praise." She smiled at the two men as she moved down the counter to attend someone.

Cid smirked as he tilted his head comfortably. "So, wanna find out what else my mouth is good for?"

.

**Chief Chef**

Vincent liked to blame Cid for his newly-found enjoyment of 'lay-ins'. His body seemed to rouse slowly now, when he slept beside his partner, waking either at the same time or only marginally earlier. He only ever saw sunrises when he was traveling the Planet on his own during his sabbaticals. And even they had become a less occurrence.

When he awoke that morning, in the guest room Tifa had always kept ready for her surrogate family, he was alone in the double bed. He propped himself on his elbows, having woken on his front, and blinked the sleep from his eyes. Cid's clothes were still on the chair in the room, where he had thrown them last night, and the curtains were still drawn, blocking the morning sunlight. The sounds of movement from elsewhere in the house suggested the pilot might be in the kitchen. Vincent hoped he wasn't walking around naked…

Pushing the heavy comforter down, Vincent climbed off the bed in only his boxers and proceeded to search for his clothing – which he _knew_ he had folded on the seat of the chair before Cid had flung his on top. They weren't there. Vincent sighed. Cid did this often; hiding his leather and cape. It was an effective ploy to see him wear something else. That 'something else' would usually be a simple pair of old, comfy clothes that Cid left out.

"_It takes yer too fuckin' long to get into that damned outfit," Cid had once complained. "Put somethin' easy on for breakfast. Be _normal_!"_

Since then Vincent had, on several occasions, worn a few old items of Cid's that he would purposefully leave in view. But that was in the privacy of their home; he was not yet accustomed to exposing that personal side to anyone else, even his adopted family.

Still… try as he might, he couldn't find his leather (or even his bandana). Cid had probably taken it with him. The sneaky bastard.

It was with some silent grumbling that Vincent left the guest room a few minutes later, wearing the soft-cotton t-shirt and worn cargo shorts that Cid so enjoyed seeing him in. His begrudging thoughts were ceased the moment his nose caught the tantalizing aroma of food. He followed the smell through the short journey to the kitchen, pausing at the door to observe the scene that greeted him.

"Morning, Vincent," Tifa noticed his presence immediately, smiling as she set down a large casserole pot in the center of the table. It looked to be filled with scrambled eggs and ham – and it smelt amazing.

At one of the seats, Marlene turned her attention to him. "Vincent!" She acknowledged enthusiastically, her eyes shining. "Uncle Cid's making us breakfast!" Her exclamation carried a volume from which Vincent could clearly feel the delight. It occurred to him that, even though Tifa probably cooked breakfast every morning, one change in routine was probably an exciting experience to a child.

Vincent's eyes lifted from her beaming face to Cid's grinning blue eyes across the kitchen, flipping a pancake over the cooker with surprising ease. Over his old t-shirt and shorts he was wearing a white cooking apron. Vincent was almost ashamed to feel a hot flush of arousal. Almost.

"Pancakes, Vince?" The pilot asked, reaching over with his free hand to open the waffle iron. A fresh, sweet scent of toasted batter filled the room, mingling with the incense of the other food. "Or waffles?"

Vincent couldn't remember the taste of either. It had been some thirty-odd years since he'd had a waffle, and he couldn't even remember having pancakes. His breakfasts with Cid usually consisted of a coffee or tea, and maybe some spiced toast Cid would make for him. The pilot had never really had time to go full out like this before. They weren't really breakfast people.

Before he could answer he felt a gentle tug on the fabric of the t-shirt sleeve. Tifa had plucked it fondly. "These look good on you," she smiled wryly, knowingly. She moved away to dump the pots in her hand into the sink.

Cid turned away from the cooker to slide the pancake onto a stack already on the table – which was quickly being depleted by Marlene. There was already a large bowl of porridge on the table, alongside a dish of chopped fruit and a bottle of syrup.

"All this time and you've been hogging the cook of our group," Tifa returned to his field of vision, pulling out a chair for him pointedly and smiling widely. She was obviously very happy. Vincent guessed it was as nice a change for her as it was for Marlene.

Vincent sat down in the chair opposite the little girl, who looked up from her plate of half-demolished pancakes and seemed to register his drastic change of fashion.

"Uncle Vincent, you look so different," she told him, tilting her head affectionately. "Why don't you wear stuff like that more?"

Behind his bangs he looked at her. "I suppose it's because I don't have anything else," he said slowly, deciding against telling her he was strangely uncomfortable in comfortable clothes. Normality wasn't his element.

The sound of raw batter hissing into fresh oil caught his attention, and Cid left it to sizzle momentarily as he set a plate down in front of Vincent. Wiping his hands on his apron, he bent down and then pushed Vincent's hair from his face, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

"Mornin'," he said redundantly, but no less valued. Cid never failed to keep this particular morning routine.

"Mm," Vincent responded with a hum, tasting the faint sweetness of whatever Cid had last sampled.

Cid reached over with a fork and speared two pancakes from the stack in front of a grinning Marlene, setting them on Vincent's plate. He then doused them in honey and sprinkled on fruit before patting the gunman's back and turning back to cooker.

Beside him, Tifa sat down and took a scooping of scrambled eggs and a slice of toast. She eyed Vincent with a twinkle in her gaze, his appearance still stirring up amicable enjoyment. After a mouthful of scrambled eggs she closed her eyes in obvious approval.

"Cid, this tastes amazing," she complemented. "When did you learn to cook?"

Cid flipped the pancake he was tending. "Way before I finished the rocket, before Shera started to do _everythin'_ for me." He propped his hip against the worktop and folded his arms, a spatula in one hand. (Vincent was suddenly very turned on by this sight for some reason). "I was the worst workaholic yer ever met, but I had to be cause there weren't no one else gonna build that rocket. I was clockin' more hours than Shinra was comfortable with so they forced me to take some R 'n' R. I ain't one for relaxing. Had to do _somethin'_ with my hands." He grinned and waved the spatula.

Vincent was surprised by this new information. Odd warmth blossomed in his chest; an affectionate respect.

"You could become a chef!" Marlene said, having wolfed down her pancakes and was waiting for Cid to bring over the plate of waffles he'd stacked on the counter.

Cid saw her gaze and picked up the plate, bringing it to the table in front of her. "I'm an engineer first and foremost, kiddo," he told her. "But I can cook for you any time."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Tifa started mock-ominously.

Cid frowned at her for a second before cottoning on. "No," he declared. "No way, Tif."

She smiled back assuredly, nodding. "Yes," she drew out the word. "You're cooking for Avalanche, Captain, and that's that. It'll make our get-togethers so much better."

"It'll be fun!" Marlene exclaimed, clearly in a very hyperactive mood this morning. "Denzel can try your food, too."

Cid held up his palms. "Hey, hey, it was just a hobby. I'd probably end up poisonin' somebody."

"Well, lucky for you your taste tester is immortal," Tifa slid a sly smile at Vincent. He leveled an unimpressed look at her, which only seemed to tickle her funny bone.

Marlene turned her large eyes on the blond. "Pleeeeease, Uncle Cid?"

Shaking his head he said, "I ain't promisin' anythin'." He took off the apron, grabbed a plate and sat down between the little girl and Vincent. "But I'll _think_ about it." He then proceeded to load a bit of everything on his plate, whether they mixed well or not.

Vincent finally turned his attention to his pancakes and sectioned off a slice with his fork. He hadn't been a food fanatic since he'd been freed from Shinra Manor, having found he didn't need as much nutrition to survive as normal people (and didn't _that_ just made him feel great…). But his curiosity more than his hunger urged him to take a bite, and with no clue what to expect found the experience of that one mouthful so much more satisfying than he expected. His taste buds literally sang their delight (with an inner voice that sounded a lot like Cid, shouting '_about time, you bastard!'_).

He caught the flash of Cid's eyes watching him, a look of expectancy on his recently shaven features. In the second Vincent met his gaze, studying the deep blue irises bright with energy, he realized that this whole breakfast spread was for _him_. Not for Marlene, not for Tifa. For Vincent.

A smile curled at the gunman's lips; an unspoken seal of approval. He was impressed, and that was a feat not so easily accomplished.

Unbeknownst to them, Tifa was trying very hard to conceal a wide smile. "By the way, I'm taking Marlene out after breakfast," she began conversationally, scooping up another fork of scrambled eggs. "We should be gone for a few hours. If there's anything you want let us know." She swallowed her mouthful and added, "There're fresh sheets in the airing cupboard…"

The long bout of silence following her words found the three adults exchanging looks, which ended with Cid smirking at Vincent, and innocent, oblivious Marlene asking if they wanted cupcakes bringing back.

Vincent discovered that there were, in fact, two things he was genuinely impressed with: One, Cid's exceptional culinary skills (which were going to be implemented much more frequently in the future). And two, Tifa's freakishly attuned woman's intuition.

.

**Rendezvous 2**

The dining hall to which they all entered was a huge, lavish, refurbished ballroom, glistening with golds and royal reds and plush carpets. Large circular dining tables took up the majority of floor space, although a roomy area had been left empty near a small drinks bar, presumable for the stinking-rich diners to mingle with their glasses of 'bubbly'.

"I'm gettin' hives just looking at this room," Barret said, eyeing the many elegantly dressed diners all looking comfortable and relaxed and, more importantly, in their element.

Cid slapped his arm with the back of his hand. "Bar, nine O'clock." He jerked his head in the direction.

Unfortunately Tifa had been expecting this. She grabbed both men by an arm each and latched onto them in a faux charade of escorting etiquette. "You two aren't going anywhere."

Considering she could manhandle them any which way she wanted with her knowledge of pressure points and taijutsu, Cid resigned himself to her bossiness and let himself be guided to their table near the back (or was it the front?) of the ballroom. They were seated before a podium where, no doubt, some rich bastard was going to make a speech and then encourage everyone to dance on the large laminate floor between the table area and stage. Cid hoped he'd be drunk by then.

The ballroom filled quickly with guests all buzzing with chatter and clinking glasses. Champagne servers swept through the mass of seated and standing people, supplying everyone with drinks or returning used glasses to the constantly swinging double doors of the kitchen. A server with a full tray distributed champagne to the team and then left brusquely.

Far too many minutes later, everyone in the ballroom was seated at the request of a smart, middle-aged man who had taken up the podium. Once he had everyone's attention and the chatter had died down he announced the 'man of the hour', and clapped Reeve on stage to a collective applause.

Cid would have envied Reeve for his ability to wear his suit like a second skin, if he was capable of envy at all. Instead, he briefly admired the WRO commissioner's suave appearance before the droning of a well-rehearsed speech queued Cid's perfectly practiced 'space-out', in which all noise became a background ambience and everything else simply didn't matter. He was in the middle of visualizing the primary hull for a new airship design when someone punched his shoulder. He was jerked rudely from his happy place.

"Did you zone out for Reeve's entire speech?" Yuffie asked incredulously, stood by his side. Around her people were mingling with other tables, gossiping with fresh glasses of champagne.

"How long did it last?" Cid cricked his neck.

Yuffie rolled her eyes. "About twenty minutes. He mentioned _your name_," she emphasized.

"Did I stand up and take a bow?"

Yuffie threw up her palms and walked off.

The socializing continued for half an hour before waiters appeared to take down meal orders. It was a further half an hour before they ate, before which Cid was considering fork-suicide up until his food arrived. He ate it with considerable restraint, although this probably wasn't as appreciated as he'd hoped, because he had spent the entire meal with his head propped on a fist in a bored fashion with Tifa occasionally shooting daggers at him. She relented half way through, and he had to assume she was simply taking it as Cid being Cid.

Reeve had joined their table for the meal, preferring their company to the bigwigs he had invited. He provided much of the conversations, some of which Cid found himself participating in, so the night wasn't a complete bore.

However, when the band was brought on stage and music started to play, Cid realized he was not in the least bit drunk for this part of the night. Before he could rectify this, he'd been cornered by a voluptuous lady wearing heavy, glittering jewelry, who eyed him like a cougar. After a few flattering compliments it was clear she greatly admired Cid's aeronautical expertise, but despite his attempts to sidle over to Cloud (who looked like he needed a rescue just as much), she grabbed his arm and dragged him to the laminate floor amidst other dancers. _You've gotta be freakin' kiddin' me,_ he groaned mentally.

Avoiding Barret and Tifa's sniggering faces through the crowd, Cid played along and grudgingly entertained the beaming woman. She chattered away as they danced, talking about her wealthy business and her connections and contributions to the WRO. Cid couldn't give a flying fuck.

She held him hostage for two lengthy songs before releasing her vice grip on his hand and shoulder, and sweeping off with a coy glance. He shuddered, massaging the feeling back into his palm. Someone stepped on his foot as they danced too close, and he shot them a Highwind glare.

He began maneuvering through the swaying bodies to where he hoped the bar was, but something hard suddenly poked the junction between his shoulder blades, and an ominous presence loomed into his personal space. He was aware a gun was being pressed against his back.

"Where are _you_ going?" The presence questioned.

Cid grinned, shoulders relaxing. "You bastard." He turned around to the very welcoming sight of Vincent. "You brought a _gun_ to a dining party?"

Vincent stowed the small semi-automatic behind his back into a hidden waistband holster. Cid vaguely registered his action as his eyes swept appreciatively (and hungrily) over what he had immediately decided was the personification of 'sex-on-legs'. Much to his approval Vincent was wearing the suit Cid had set out for him at home. The jacket hung on his frame like it belonged, with just the right amount of pinch at the waist, even unbuttoned. His bowtie sat snugly under the collar of his shirt.

Still grinning, Cid reached up to push the man's hair from his face. Without his bandana Vincent's bangs fell across his eyes, obscuring most of his face. It was sexy and endearing at the same time. "I'm pretty sure this is one of my wet dreams."

Instead of answering, Vincent took ahold of Cid's hand, other on his waist and merged them into the sway of the dancing crowd, smoothly mimicking the collective step. "Perimeter's secure, I felt obliged to find you after my sweep of the building."

"How kind of you," Cid said sarcastically, following Vincent's lead easily as though they did this often. "Didn't Reeve invite you for the dinner and shit?"

"Yes. I declined."

"What? Damn, that's not fair," Cid grumbled. "How come _you_ got away with it and I couldn't?"

"I've suffered enough for one lifetime, don't you think?"

Cid opened his mouth to reply and paused. "…Okay, fair enough."

The song ended and another struck up, but Cid retained his grip of Vincent's bicep and dragged him off the dance floor, following a well-attuned sixth sense that would lead him to the exit. He spotted it through the mass of people.

However luck wasn't hanging with him tonight, as Yuffie's loud voice pierced the music and chatter.

"Vincent! You came," she grinned, taking her time to look him over with an exaggerated nod of approval. "I could never picture it, but _now_ I can cherish this memory." She lunged for his arm. "Let's dance!" And she all but wrenched him back to the dancing mass.

"Damnit," Cid cursed as Tifa and Red found him, filling the spot Yuffie had just vacated. "I just got hold of him before she dragged him off."

"You're going to have to wait a bit longer," Tifa said apologetically, touching his arm in a mocking sense of sympathy. "I want a dance when Yuffie's finished." Her eyes were on Vincent through the crowd, the same look of great approval on her face. "You are a lucky man, Cid Highwind."

"I will be when I get him outside," Cid promised.

Red frowned in confusion.

.

(AN: I could have gone on forever, so I thought I'd better stop there. I wasn't going to continue Rendezvous but this one's for Wraziez, you wanted to read Vinnie dolled up so, voila.)

.

**Erogenous Zone**

The mattress squeaked in protest as Vincent was unceremoniously thrown on it, unmade sheets bouncing like waves of fabric. Cid followed him down almost immediately – but he had barely touched the sheets when he was expertly rolled over, and the weight of his partner was pinning him down. His hot, horny and half-naked partner.

Vincent dove for Cid's neck, all teeth and demanding lips. Cid's hands raked through his long hair as he managed to nip the man's earlobe. They were a writhing mass of limbs as they groped, scratched and kissed their way into a heated frenzy. Cid's hands found themselves digging into the back of Vincent's neck, a rough, hasty massage that had the gunman humming in pleasure above him. Cid attacked the knots in the muscle, earning him an approving grind of hips.

They paused only to rid themselves of their remaining clothing before they were soaking in each other's touches again, mouths occupied and pelvises rocking to a steady pace. Cid's mouth worked along Vincent's jaw, making his way to the man's lips as his hands roamed down his partner's spine. He pressed the pads of his fingers into the knots as he found them, and was moving out from the man's spine when Vincent gasped loudly and recoiled sharply from Cid's lips as though he had been electrocuted.

"Wha…?" Cid panted, frowning hazily at him through a lust-addled vision. The gunman's eyes were wide with the abrupt new sensation he'd just experienced, and Cid had to rewind his short-term memory to figure out what he'd done. It clicked a half-second later. "This?" He pressed his fingertips into the lower trapezius and watched in amazement as Vincent arched above him with a bitten-off gasp. Cid could actual feel him harden against his own cock.

But he was curious, now. With a grin on his face Cid hooked a leg around Vincent's, twisted his hips and rolled their positions, using the momentum to then flip the gunman onto his front. Vincent was too busy recovering from the bolt of pleasure had gripped him to resist, but glanced back over his shoulder at the pilot with an expression that Cid couldn't quite identify (but enjoyed nonetheless – any expression was a bonus from Vincent).

Straddling his backside, Cid immediately saw what the man had reacted to. Flaring from either side of the spine were the two long scars – the marks where Chaos' wings manifested. Cid had always known they were there, but he had never touched them before like he had, had never really thought they'd be anything but sore. Apparently they were the exact opposite.

Cid's fingers ghosted over them, tracing the smooth, raised lines. Vincent groaned softly, his lithe muscles flexing under the skin. Cid was captivated. He applied more pressure and watched Vincent's spine bow, listening to him moan louder.

"Cid…" He gasped quietly, his voice thick with arousal.

The blond's cock twitched at the mere sound of him. He was being handed candy land, and he had a mega sweet tooth. He leaned over and husked right by Vincent's ear, "yer sound like pure, potent sex when you moan… did yer know that?" And with those words, he pressed the pads of his thumbs firmly across the marks, and reveled in the erotic moans fleeing from Vincent's lips. His body writhed under Cid, taunt muscles sliding under the skin. Damn, the blond was _achingly_ hard.

Cid pressed his chest fully down on Vincent and planted his lips along the curve of his neck, grinding his hips into the man's ass. Vincent was practically gyrating against the sheets, gasping as Cid's hands continued the relentless ministrations on his shoulder blades. His cock slid between Vincent's buttocks and it was apparently all they needed. Almost simultaneously they reached their peak together, shuddering as they came.

They lay panting for a few seconds in stunned silence, pleasantly hazy with afterglow. Cid's racing heart was thumping against his chest and he wouldn't be surprised if Vincent could feel it. He folded his arms comfortably under his chin and relaxed on his partner's back.

"I didn't think your moans would be the equivalent to a whole bottle of Viagra," he mumbled contently, though somewhat shocked he'd climaxed to _just_ moans.

"… You have a strange arousal trigger."

Cid PFTed, his breath blowing at the hair on Vincent's neck. "Can yer blame me? You never moan. It was like winnin' the fuckin' jackpot." He smirked. "Anyway, now I know where yer volume button is, I get to be greedy whenever I want."

"I will kill you if you do so in public."

The smirk widened. "Wouldn't dream of it."

.

**Destroyed**

It took several days to finally catch up to the source of all the destruction. The trail wasn't hard to find, but with so much devastation it was difficult to determine a direction from one tragic site to the next.

There were never any bodies. For some reason that seemed ten times worse than if there was. As least if the trail was littered with corpses it would suggest a non-supernatural force at work, something they could deal with. But it wasn't the case. The lack of bodies delivered a chilling reminder than the thing they were following didn't abide by the laws of reality. It wasn't anything anyone had ever faced.

"It's here," Barret's toneless voice announced. He had long since stopped referring to it as 'him'.

His statement was redundant, as no one could have missed the monster balanced menacingly in the air before them.

"Chaos," Cid said, tone devoid of all emotion.

The creature's huge wings gave a leathery beat, the deep red membrane fluttering in the air current. Cid had always been impressed by them, he still was deep down. He just couldn't access that emotion anymore; it had been crushed to the depths of his soul, overshadowed by the painful fear and resignation of what the three Avalanche members had to do.

To their left was a barricade of WRO offensive vehicles. Their doors were all hung open and weapons littered the floor, but there wasn't a single officer to be seen.

"Cid," Tifa warned softly. "Are you ready to do this?"

Cid hardened his gaze at the monster looking down at them with its glowing yellow eyes, considering their presence. "Yes."

Vincent was no longer in there. He was gone. It was just the Weapon, now.

Behind him, Tifa gasped sharply. "Cid!" She cried.

He spun around and his heart nearly burst from his chest. Strands of green particles rose from her skin, accumulating into strings of smoky essence. Her cells were being transformed into Lifestream before their very eyes.

"NO!" Cid bellowed, whirling around to face the demonic creature as he stepped between Tifa and its line of sight to her. "STOP!"

His outburst left a deadly silence in the air, and Cid didn't dare move. He heard Tifa panting in fear, but her breathing reassured him she was still alive, and he knew he had been indefinitely successful. Her gasps slowed down and he felt his pulse slow just a fraction. Cid gathered his strength and stepped forward _very_ cautiously, hands out as if he was placating a wild animal.

"You won't kill me just yet," he said slowly, an edge of accusation in his voice, as though he didn't want to hold any special security. "Will yer? You remember me, don't yer?" He stepped closer still, his heart thumping away. For days they had been trying to find Chaos, and for days Cid had run terrible scenarios through his head, leaving him with nothing but a cold dread at the thought of finding Chaos. "Like it or not, your DNA is part of me… your body is part of me. Your _life_ is part of me."

And _that_ was their weapon.

Cid was their bullet, and Chaos was the gun. Vincent, however unknowingly, had armed Cid with the one thing that could destroy the demon: Itself.

Cid hadn't known whether to laugh or cry at the twist of cruel irony. During the many times he and Vincent had shared intimate moments, they had been sharing souls. Something Chaos itself was inadvertently responsible for.

For Chaos to die, Cid had to die.

.

/

AN: I had way too much fun with this bunch, hence the story-length so-called drabbles. If anyone has any prompts feel free to let me know. Thanks for reading.


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